Story: The Man With Bottles! (Part 1)

*Before you start reading this story, I'd like to tell you that this is only the first part of the story. It is a medium size story that's why, I have written this story in three parts. I will be uploading remaining two parts in the span of next 7 to 8 days. 

I hope you enjoy reading! 

PART ONE - ARRIVAL

Year - 2007

After a tiresome journey, we were about to reach the place I hated the most. When we came here last time, I was a small kid. I don’t have any memory of that time and I am not interested to take any such pain to remember it. I only know that I can’t create any memory here. I have to just adjust for few days before we head back. I plonked my bag on the platform and read the name of the platform in my mind – Firozpur (my native place).

Our relatives or people only known-to-my-parents came to received us at the railway station. When we came out of the station, I instantly liked the place. It was not that bad what I thought of! I expected plain ground where children would be playing cricket, and crop fields all around. But I was wrong because the town was developing. The city was in construction and few apartments where already established. As our car moved, I explored more. I wasn’t disappointed until I entered a way which consisted of only plain fields. At the end of the lane, I could to see a house. I quietly assumed that it wouldn’t have proper sanitation facilities. I was making up my mind for a hard week here. When I got out of my car, I saw my grandmother and touched her feet. I imagined how much I missed her? Or was I too selfish about my comfort that I never visited her? I felt guilty, immediately. There were many unknown faces staring me as if I looked like an alien. Simple fact was: I was new to them and they were new to me.

Then came the most boring part, one by one, I was introduced to everyone and I couldn’t help myself from smiling. It happens with everyone, I thought. They were new to me but they were also my family. After a loud welcome, I thought of taking rest and everyone insisted us to do the same. Travelling from Mumbai to Firozpur in train (though AC) was hectic and everyone was aware of that fact.

Night:

One thing that I like the most in villages is – peace. People living in Mumbai can never find such peace. After a noiseless nap, I felt refreshed. I ate Aloo Parathas with extra butter on it for snacks, and Sarson ka Saag was also delicious for dinner. It was a typical Punjabi treat and I enjoyed it. Suddenly, I started feeling lonely. Everyone started chatting with each other: my mother with my aunties, my father with my uncles, and kids were too small in the house. I could only see my grandmother lone sitting on her unique rocking chair. That rocking chair lasted for almost 5 decades and my grandmother was still using it. For some reason, I felt that I should apologise to her for not coming here quite often. I went up to her and touched her feet. She gave me blessings and indicated me to sit beside her. I sat comfortably on a Charpai (Wooden Handmade Bed).

            “If I am not wrong you’re in college, right?” My grandmother asked.

            “Yes!” I replied.

Afterwards for half-an-hour, she asked me some basic questions regarding my likes, what I do, hobbies, etc. I sat there answering her questions. She told me some important things about our family, our culture, and how much she got bored in this house. I was listening to her joyfully and also observed that she was proud of our culture and her past.

It was quarter to 12 and still, everyone was busy chatting. One of my aunties instructed me to help my Daddi (grandmother) get to her bed. I wished her a good night sleep and turned around to leave, when I saw many story books lying down on the table. I asked her if I could take one and she granted me the permission.